


A Settling of Dust

by Ninna



Category: Original Work
Genre: Baseball, Gen, Possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11278266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninna/pseuds/Ninna
Summary: Sometimes those thought lost forever leave a bit of themselves behind.





	A Settling of Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ in 2011; this version has been edited further.

Brian arrived at the ballpark hours before anyone else. This silent contemplation was his alone. He may have shared an apartment with Mark but this clubhouse was truly their home; and in this little alcove almost all he had left of him remained, these artifacts of worship. Mark’s family had taken almost everything else, the books and game consoles and keepsakes and most of the clothes. What was left to him were the discards of intermingled unwashed laundry and the contents of his locker. The team had mutually agreed not to disturb the locker. The only thing that was disturbed, he supposed, was him. He would look but not touch, never touch. He put his hands in the pockets of Mark’s jeans. Two months ago, they wouldn’t have fit him. The guys had always joked that Mark would have slipped through the slats in the bullpen bench if he wasn’t careful. It wasn’t that Brian was consciously not eating. It was just one of those things that was escaping his notice these days. If it wasn’t pitching, sleeping, or this hopeless vigil, it just wasn’t happening. If he’d only taken Mark up on that offer to come home with him over the All-Star break, they would have died together. If he was here now, he’d tell him not to sound so much like a damn Morrissey song. _The pleasure, the privilege is mine_...except it hadn’t been, Brian was still here, and there was a hole in the bullpen that no other scrapheap lefty could possibly fill.

He barely noticed the rest of the guys filtering into the clubhouse later that morning. He supposed he’d have to eventually go join someone in the weight room or do something else that tangentially related to his function of pitching. Not for the first time did he wish he could just go out there and throw, leave it all behind, thought and action combining into flow. That feeling wasn’t happening much these days, either. Usually what was getting left behind him were long fly balls and inherited runners scoring. The rooks were getting all the innings as September ended, even the garbage ones. He sighed softly as he dressed, putting on a now ill-fitting uniform. Perhaps next season, he’d change his number. He glanced at the whiteboard. Long toss scheduled for today; one of those things the new pitching coach was trying out. There wasn’t any doubt that the pitching had improved since last season, except for his pitching. It wasn’t because he wasn’t working to the standards of the rest. He was paired with one of the recent callups, this kid, Jason something-or-other, as interchangeable as the rest of them. Brian picked up the baseball in his left hand, threw it up, caught it, threw it up again, as easy as anything was now. He caught it, picked up his glove, and realized that he was about to put his glove on his right hand.

The pregame preparations went well. Nobody reprimanded him and the guys were giving him their usual wide berth. He remembered what it was like to be in the center of a bunch of chattering pitchers, down there in the bullpen where Mark was holding court, five or six guys listening to his stories and laughing. It would be nice to laugh again. Mark had told him a lot more stories that he hadn’t told the other guys. Sitting around, playing video games, drinking beer and just having a great time, becoming as close friends as either of them had ever had. Brian ducked into the bathroom. Every time he passed a mirror lately he thought he had seen Mark reflected in it. He’d never wanted to look too closely in the implausible chance that it was some sort of visitation but this time he did, seeing himself with a clarity that he hadn’t had since it happened. His dark brown hair had lightened and it looked like his eyes had lightened as well. That wasn’t possible. Mark had been day, he had been night, and now he looked like twilight. A chill went down his back and settled in his gut. He’d foolishly said to himself that they’d been one soul in two bodies and that half of himself had been ripped away that horrible day in July. That hadn’t been the case at all.


End file.
